


Sweetest Downfall

by make_easter_gay_again



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Unhappy Ending, feat. depressed otto and stressed georg, its kinda happy in the middle, this one's depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 16:26:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/make_easter_gay_again/pseuds/make_easter_gay_again
Summary: They sat, as they always did the first night Otto returned, out on the square foot of concrete they called a balcony, drinking beers and talking about whatever they pleased. The sky finally rid itself of the plague of clouds that covered it all winter. They could finally see the stars.





	Sweetest Downfall

**Author's Note:**

> If you really wanted, you could consider this as a sort of sequel to hanschen-ril0w's fic Thank You, but this one is sadder.

They were young, and they were broke.

Georg heard the front door open, but he kept his eyes on the music in front of him, pressing a few random keys to make it appear like he was playing. Otto finished his day, and Georg still hadn’t done anything. He sat at his piano for six hours, and he did nothing. Nothing he wrote sounded right. The thought of facing Otto without anything to show for the day made him queasy. The papers propped up on the instrument meant nothing. Everything he wrote down he scratched out only a few minutes later. If he made something up on the spot, it would be better than any of the tunes he forced from his mind in the past week.

Otto spent all day working downtown in some building he didn’t care about, but he did it so that Georg could do what he wanted. An opportunity like that should have been heaven. For a while, he cranked out piece after piece, and people praised what he had done. Otto left every morning, and Georg could tell himself it was okay. Someday, he would be worth enough to let Otto do whatever he pleased, and he believed that.

Where the hell had that gone?

Ignoring the dread he felt, he stood and followed Otto into the kitchen. He hopped up on the counter and waited for Otto to get his head out of the cabinet. When he eventually made his way over, Georg leaned down to kiss him, bringing at least a small smile to their faces.

“You doing okay?” Georg asked.

“I’ve been worse. You?”

He let out an exasperated breath and glanced through the doorway to where he sat a moment ago. “Never before have I more wanted to throw my piano out the window.”

“Still no progress?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“You know, no one would hire you if you gave them the music you write when you’re stressed. Give it some time.”

“You’re wonderful, Otto.” Georg ran his hand through Otto’s hair, and his expression turned sour. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“It’s been far too long since you cut your hair.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Absolutely. I can barely look at you. We’re fixing this.” He edged his way to his feet, then dragged Otto into their bedroom. After a quick duck into the bathroom, Georg turned the lights as bright as they’d go and sat him in a chair.

“Do we have to do this now?”

He combed through Otto’s hair and messed around moving where it parted. “It takes our minds off of our lives. And I’ve been stress-eating bread all day, so I’m not very hungry. Now, the important question.” He fixed his hair to be as it always did. “Classic _‘am-I-going-to-work-or-going-sailing’_ Otto, or,” he separated a piece in the front and let it hang over his forehead, “ _‘I-had-this-haircut-before-it-was-cool-and-everyone-lowkey-copied-it’_ Hanschen?”

Otto smiled, but his sunken eyes persuaded Georg to get the job done. When he returned to his usual crisp haircut, he got up and changed out of his work clothes, and Georg cleaned his workspace. Emerging from the bathroom changed and refreshed, Otto collapsed into bed. He didn’t bother with the blankets; he smothered his face in the pillow and let out a breath.

Georg joined him, sitting up against the wall. “Do you want me to make you something to eat?”

“I want to not be conscious anymore.”

“How about for when you wake up, then?”

“Your bread comment inspired me. I’ll just eat bread.”

“We’re going to run out.”

“It’s cheaper than eating actual food.”

“Just rest, Otto. You can get me when you wake up, and I’ll make you something.”

“Bread.”

“Maybe bread.”

“I’m trying to sleep. Go away.”

Georg stayed for a few minutes, staring blankly into space, until he realized that now he couldn’t move at all. Otto likely wouldn’t fall all the way asleep, but he’d get close. If Georg moved too much, he’d be snapped from whatever almost-sleep he was in. He inched himself slowly towards the edge, trying not to mess up the displacement of the mattress. Eventually he got to his feet, dimmed the lights, and closed the door on his way out. He wandered over to his piano and gazed at the mess of papers that demonstrated his lack of progress. He picked them up, crumpled them into a ball, and threw them out. He’d figure something out tomorrow.

* * *

They were young, and they were drunk.

Georg loved having Otto back. He loved being able to feel Otto’s arm around his shoulders again. Otto, now, was his for two entire weeks, and then he was some cruise line’s for another two weeks. He managed to get the closest to part time you could get on a boat. It was strange having a boyfriend for half a month at a time, but Otto was happy. After so long, that mattered a fair amount more than Georg’s loneliness.

They sat, as they always did the first night Otto returned, out on the square foot of concrete they called a balcony, drinking beers and talking about whatever they pleased. The sky finally rid itself of the plague of clouds that covered it all winter. They could finally see the stars.

“The stars are dumb,” Otto said. “I’m breaking a bunch of sailor rules saying that, but they are.”

Georg took a sip. “Why is that? I agree, obviously, but I want you to talk.”

“They were important in the past, sure, but they serve no purpose anymore. They don’t really have any redeeming qualities. From our perspective, they’re just dots, and up close, they’re bubbling balls of hot gas. There’s nothing beautiful about them. They helped people know north, but that’s all they did.”

“I like that. I like you.”

“They could at least be a light source, like the sun. That’s a star. There’s only one sun, but every night has fifty stars, and it’s still dark. The sun is the only helpful star. I’ll consider the north star helpful too, but the rest are useless.”

“Isn’t the sun way closer, though?”

He tilted his head down to press a kiss to Georg’s forehead. “I didn’t think you’d take the stars’ side.”

“I’m not! I could never. You’re very persuading. I’m just saying, because everyone who debates something should be prepared for a counterargument.”

They paused, both feeling that they needed to be a lot more intoxicated for this conversation. Georg finished his bottle and reached across Otto for another, using his shirt to twist the cap off. Otto closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the door. “They led us home at some point. They deserve some recognition for that.”

“Maybe they led you home in another life.”

A thought struck his mind, and he smiled. “Home to you?”

Georg paid no mind to this, lost in his own ideas. “Home to something. There was a reason you came home. A reason you watched the stars.”

“What else would past Otto care about?”

“Maybe you had a family. A family you cared about, and you wanted to be with. Maybe we never happened.”

Otto drained the last few sips of his bottle and paused before moving on. He opened his eyes and looked at Georg. “Why would any Otto _ever_ care about those dusty old lightbulbs if there was no you waiting for him to come back?”

They held eye contact for a while, neither knowing quite what to do next. Georg became more and more speechless as the words became clearer and clearer in his mind. Otto broke first, his hand flying out for another drink. Georg moved to sit against the railing to see Otto better. With the light from the apartment shining dully out of the window, Georg’s face was illuminated in a pale green projection from the cheap curtains. Otto scooted himself closer, and Georg let his hand drift up to mess with Otto’s hair.

“You could use a haircut.” He turned Otto’s head with his hand to inspect the sides. “Two weeks away from my expert eyes does a number on the length of your hair. Let’s go inside; I’ll cut it.”

“What, now?”

“Yes now. You’re not as pleasant to look at. Unless you wanted to grow it out longer, which I’d be great with. So cool with that.”

Otto kissed Georg, then got to his feet. “Come on, then.”

“You’re not growing it out?”

“Nope.”

“That’s a little disappointing. Okay.”

They abandoned their things outside, strolling aimlessly back into their apartment. Otto sat in the chair he always sat in for this occasion. He heard Georg’s triumphant cheer from the bathroom and watched as he walked out, brandishing a pair of scissors like a prize he had won.

“Your hair looks red,” Otto mused, adjusting himself so he could see Georg as he made his way closer. “I like it. You’re beautiful, Georg.”

“Be quiet. I need to focus.”

Only the dim, yellow bedside lamp shone in the room. Georg barely made a sound as he corrected Otto’s hair bit by bit. He refused to let his fuzzy brain get the better of him. Glancing at the clock by the lamp, Otto watched the night tick later and later, unable to budge in such a vulnerable situation.

When Georg stepped back, eyes and head burning from the strain, Otto ran a hand across his head. Not feeling any noticeable bald spots, he got up and walked to the bathroom. Bits of hair that had clung to his exposed shirt collar stung his skin, so he merely stripped off the shirt and continued his examination. He turned, having come to a conclusion, to see that Georg had fallen back onto the bed and removed his glasses. It took until Otto completely got into bed next to him that he noticed his presence.

Georg turned to him, eyes wide and exhausted. “How did I do?”

“You did good, Georg. You did alright.” He put his hand on Georg’s back and pulled him closer.

Georg kissed Otto before Otto could kiss Georg.

They might have dozed off at some point, but when Otto regained awareness millimeters away from Georg’s lips, he thought nothing of it to close the distance once more. By then, morning light poured through the blinds. They followed this pattern for an indeterminable amount of time: kissing until they drifted off and sleeping until one woke and could kiss the other.

They wouldn’t be remembered. Nothing they would do would turn any respectable amount of heads or change humanity in any way. But Otto knew that in every life he’d be with Georg. He’d let the stars guide him, or some equally dim streetlight, or sun shining through a dusty window. In some life, they’d both get their dreams, but they always had each other.

* * *

They weren’t young, and they weren’t happy.

Otto stayed in bed most of the time. If Georg got him up, it was to shower and brush his teeth and not be too disgusting. They ate meals on top of the comforter. The kitchen table became a place for Georg to organize his thoughts and their various expenses.

Fired from the only job he ever enjoyed, Otto felt no reason to be present around anyone but Georg. If he couldn’t get that right, he’d only screw up everything else.

For the first time in eight years, Georg worked a full-time job. It was downtown, stuffy, and dreadful, like Otto’s had been all those years ago. Those lifetimes ago. Georg did his best to land accompanist gigs whenever he could. The theatre he had frequently played for while Otto had his job did their best to hire him whenever they could. He played in their rehearsals, and they gave him as steady of a wage as they could. Never once did a piece Georg wrote play in that rehearsal space.

Otto knew he’d be back on his feet eventually. He’d have to be. Georg couldn’t support both of them for long. For now, Georg told him to let himself rest. No one would hire him if he played them the music he wrote while he was stressed.

They never had everything they wanted, but they once had enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.


End file.
